My hand in yours
The end and the beginning
Of a butterfly life
Fragile and brief, so brief
But beautiful and ours
To keep at last.
Edinburgh was grey and dreamy and blustery, and Sarah’s heart leapt as she stepped out of the taxi. At last, the Midnight mansion was waiting for her. The lights were on and shone yellow in the lilac dusk. Aunt Juliet was on the steps, waiting for her. Sarah ran into her aunt’s arms and held her tightly. She couldn’t help noticing the jagged scars running over her cheeks and arms, from when the demon had clawed her nearly to death. Her fingers traced Aunt Juliet’s scars, her eyes full of sorrow.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m alive and it’s in the past.” She fixed her niece with a direct gaze. “I won’t ask you what happened, Sarah. I just want to know one thing. Are we safe now? Is it all finished, whatever was happening?”
“Yes. Yes, Aunt Juliet. We are safe.”
Her aunt smiled and held her again. “And Harry . . . welcome home.”
“Sean. My name is Sean Hannay.”
“Right,” said Juliet, looking at Sarah with raised eyebrows.
“Long story . . .” she began, but stopped midway through.
Because on the pavement, with a mane of red hair, bright-blue eyes and a purple dress – she always wore a hint of purple somewhere – was her best friend. She was holding a shoebox.
“Bryony!” Sarah called, racing towards her. They fell into each other’s arms, negotiating the shoebox, tears streaming down both their faces.
“I was so worried!” Bryony whispered into Sarah’s hair.
“I know . . . I’m sorry I worried you. I’m here now.”
Bryony handed her the shoebox. “This is for you.” Only then did Sarah see that the box had holes dotted all around it, and there was a soft towel folded inside. She pulled the lid of the box off. Within the towel, curled up asleep, was a little black kitten. For a moment she couldn’t speak.
“I thought . . . with Shadow gone.” Bryony stumbled to explain.
She hugged her friend. “Thank you. Thank you so much!”
“It’s a girl. What will you call her? I was thinking maybe Moonbeam?”
Sarah and Sean shared a look. The fleeting image of the moon-demons, skeletal and translucent among the trees, danced between them.
“Er . . . I think there are much better names,” said Sean, scratching the back of his head.
“I’d go for Sunshine,” said Juliet. “Not very Sarah, but it’s cute.”
Sarah smiled. “Sunshine is perfect,” she said, caressing the kitten between the ears. “I need to know, Bryony. Did you get into the School of Art?”
Bryony’s face broke into a smile. “Yes!”
“Oh, I’m so happy for you!” Sarah squealed under Sean’s delighted gaze. It was amazing for him to see her so happy at last, so carefree. He watched as Sarah, Sunshine and Bryony entered the house.
When he and Aunt Juliet followed, they couldn’t believe what they saw. Sarah had taken her shoes off and kicked them aside, and hung her jacket on the peg hurriedly, like it didn’t matter if it hung straight. Was the old Sarah really gone, the one who would have a panic attack if her shoes weren’t lined up, if her coat didn’t hang perfectly even? The girl who had to dust and polish every surface over and over again before leaving the house?
Juliet’s smile just got bigger. “Now, you must be hungry,” she said, trying to suppress her joy at seeing Sarah so . . . careless. “The cupboards and fridge are full. All the beds are changed and the place is gleaming. I had everything ready for you.”
“Thank you so much, Aunt Ju . . .” But once again Sarah’s voice trailed away. She’d seen a letter on the table, one that Aunt Juliet had set aside from the pile of bills and brochures that had arrived while she was away.
Sarah knew what it was.
She took a few slow steps towards the table. “I want to open this alone,” she said, lifting up the letter with shaking hands.
“Of course, sweetheart,” said Juliet, and they watched Sarah step out of the kitchen.
She went upstairs to her room. So many memories were there, all her things that had lain in wait until she returned: the silvery-grey walls, the long, white voile curtains, the freshly made bed on which Aunt Juliet had placed a sprig of lavender from the garden. Her cello in its purple case sat against the wall, waiting to come back to life. She wanted to play so badly that her fingers hurt with desire.
Sarah sat on her bed. Her hands trembled so much that she struggled to open the envelope. Her eyes scanned the text, looking for “we regret”, or “unsuccessful” . . .
Tears were streaming down her face as she walked back to the kitchen, slowly, deliberately. Sean, Aunt Juliet and Bryony looked at her, expressions of encouragement but also worry visible on their faces.
A smile of pure happiness spread across her face as she showed them the letter offering her a place in the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland.
Finally, they were alone. A sliver of moon was shining white and pure on Sarah’s garden as they strolled hand in hand, unafraid at last.
“Look. I kept this all along,” Sarah said, lifting the white and scarlet opal to the palm of her hand.
Sean took it from her, rolling the stone between his fingers. It was smooth to the touch, and cold. “I wonder if it’s just a stone now, or if it still has a piece of your soul in it.”
“I don’t know.”
“We can’t run the risk, I suppose. If part of you is inside here, we need to—”
“Keep it safe.”
“Yes.”
Sarah stopped and stood in front of him. “Will you do that for me? Will you keep a piece of my soul?” Sarah’s green eyes burnt in his, full of tenderness.
Sean shook his head. “I won’t. Your soul is your own, all of it. I love you, but I won’t own you. Not even a piece of you.”
Sarah smiled. “In that case, I know what to do with this.”
She led Sean towards Anne’s herb patch. Memories of her mother were everywhere. She could see Anne planting and digging and pruning, her black hair down her shoulders, the same raven hair as Sarah.
She kneeled on the damp soil and started digging delicately under the thyme bush. That was where her mother had concealed her magical diary, buried for Sarah to find. The opal went into the ground, interred deep, safe in the heart of her home. Sean looked above him. A few stars were visible in the cloudy night sky, the sky of home, so different from the harsh, vivid sky of the Shadow World and its sea of stars. The new moon above them was a maternal, tender face – not the hunting goddess of the Shadow World.
Sean had often thought that Sarah was like the moon: white, luminous, distant. Untouchable. But not any more. She was with him. And all the world was calm.